


Insomnia

by winterfirehair



Category: A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984), A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010), South Park
Genre: Blood and Gore, Character Death, Eventual rape, Insomnia, M/M, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 10:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4056124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterfirehair/pseuds/winterfirehair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I never want to close my eyes."<br/>"I don't want to fall asleep."<br/>"I'm afraid to dream."</p><p>When South Park's children and teenagers get brutally attacked and killed in their sleep, the town has to face their worst enemy so far.</p><p>Freddy Krueger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Insomnia

A lightning flashed trough the dark night as the Village Inn's sign flickered violently in the heavy rain.

Inside the diner, only four customers remained, as well as the old staff woman. No wonder, it was almost two in the morning, but due to the raging thunderstorm outside none of the Goth Kids could go home now, not without at least getting a bad pneunomia.  
Firkle stirred in his coffee, clearly bored and slowly getting really tired. Pete was yawning for the felt tenth time in the last five minutes, and Henrietta almost fell asleep over her book. Michael drew on his zigarette, clearly tired too. They had been here the whole evening and wanted to go home around midnight, but the rain had stopped them from getting outside. They could only wait now, drink more coffee and try not to fall asleep.

Michael sighed, standing up. "I'm back in a second."  
Only Firkle nodded, the other two didn't react as the tallest Goth slendered over to the toilets. The sterile looking white room caused him to squeeze his eyes half shut, being blindet after the half-light of the diner.  
Rapidly, he emptied his bladder and zipped his pants back up, then washed his hands. The lamps above his hand flickered slightly and he looked up, frowning. The storm seemed to get worse. He groaned. If there was something he didn't want, it was to stay here for the night.

When the Goth left the toilet, the diner was empty. Michael froze. „.. Guys?“  
Their table was just like he'd left it, but Firkle, Pete and Henrietta were gone. Outside, the thunderstorm raged even more, so there was no chance they'd left the Village Inn.  
„Firkle ? Pete ? Hen ?“ No answer.  
The tallest Goth sighed. Did they really want to play this game? The clock on the wall showed it was almost three in the morning. A few minutes ago, they all were tired as fuck, so why did his group now want to fool him?

„Guys, i'm too tired for this shit, really.“

A small childish giggle caused him to spin around. This had been Firkles voice, he was sure.  
„Really Firkle.. Really?“  
With a sigh, Michael trotted in the direction Firkles laughter had come from. He didn't even wonder why the boy was in the kitchen, their youngest always gave literally two shits about rules.

The kitchen of the Village Inn was dark, the chefs had already gone home, only the old staff woman had to stay and serve customers coffee and other drinks.  
Michael searched for the light switch, but of course it didn't work. Firkle giggled again as the leader of their group rolled his eyes. Typical horror movie scene.  
Presumably the little goth had turned out the fuses to try to scare his elder, but Michael just got annoyed. He was really way to tired for this.

He followed the noises of the little goth, trying not to run into the furnishings, but that was a hard task with this darkness. Just the sporadic lightnings brought some light for him to at least memorize where everything stood.  
“Firkle! Come back here now, dammit!”, he shouted, after running straight into some boxes. His foot hurt and he was getting really pissed now.

Footsteps came closer, but they were too heavy to be Firkle's.  
“Pete? Dammit guys, really.”

As blind as a bat, Michael stared into the darkness, just noticing a dark silhouette in front of him. This wasn't one of his friends, he could see that. But it wasn't the old lady either, so, who the fuck was this?

The silhouette shifted, the room lit up, and he was staring at the smallest goth, who just smiled, his eyes covered by his hair.  
Firkle grabbed Michael's hand and dragged him with him, out of the kitchen. “We have to get out.. Otherwise, he wins!”  
The tallest goth followed, confused. “What the fuck are you even playing, couldn't this wait just until I came back?”  
No answer. Firkle just kept walking, deadly silent. With their steps, a steady dripping was heard, and Michael looked around. Sounded, like one of the faucets was leaking, but he couldn't see any. When he turned his view back on the ground, he noticed the little, dark drops, and stopped.  
“Wait.”  
He caused them to stop, and knelt down, dipping his finger into the substance. It was blood.

When the tallest goth looked back, he saw more of the little drops, a few of them smeared where they walked trough.  
“Firkle, are you hurt ?”  
He looked up to the young teenager, who still smiled, even with the blood streaming down his cheeks. “It's not that bad Michael.”  
When he brushed his hair out of his face, the usually fearless leader screamed.

Where Firkle's beautiful green eyes had been, there was only red. His eye sockets were literally torn and some of his remaining eye fluids ran down his cheeks, mixed with blood.  
Michael quickly turned away, already tasting the gall in his mouth. He could see blood, but this was too much.  
“Who did this to you?!”, he gasped, but Firkle remained silent. After Michael had breathed in and out a few times, he got up on his feet again. “We have to call an ambulance.”

He didn't even expect to find someone who could save Firkle's eyesight – the boy would be blind forever now – but if they stayed here, he'd probably bleed out and he'd loose way more than only his ability to see.

“No one will come, Michael.”  
Still smiling his somehow creepy smile, the teenager looked up to him as if he could still see him. “We're all alone with him.”

“Who's he Firkle?! Can you please, just once, stop talking in riddles?”  
Their leader started panicking now. “Where are the others? Fuck, what's going on here?!”  
The lights above them started flickering again and the kitchen around them changed. The metallic furnishing around them got rusty in seconds, leaving Michael dumbfounded. 

This wasn't the Village Inn anymore. Or was it? The teenager shook his head, confused. When he looked at Firkle again, the blood was gone.  
Instead of his bloody cheeks, they were now burnt, still throwing bubbles and smoking a bit. His whole face was burnt, his neck, his hands. His gothic clothing hung in stripes from his body, showing that indeed all of him was burnt. The boy looked like they had just roasted him.

In the next moment, before Michael even had a chance to react, Firkle's body bursted. A large amount of blood covered the taller Goth, mixed with other bodily fluids he didn't even want to know.  
After the short shock period, Michael started screaming. Nothing was left of the poor little gothic boy, just shreds of flesh and splinters of his bones, some of it hanging in his curly hair, blood dripping of it's tips.

“Don't worry, it was almost painless for him.”

The raspy voice hat Michael spinning around, just to face some kind of person that looked like an almost humanized nightmare.

Freddy Krueger.

It all made sense now, but the tallest Goth still was way too traumatized by Firkle's brutal death to understand the whole situation. Even the nightmare in front of him noticed this, and laughed.  
“You'll be with your little friend again soon. But first..”

Quickly, a lot faster than an average human, Krueger stepped right before Michael, and slapped him in the face. Four bleeding cuts remained and the Goth winced.  
“Wake up! You're bleeding.”

 

Freddy's voice echoed in his head when Michael jerked awake, his friends looking at him in shock - all three of them.  
He didn't even feel the pain of the cuts anymore when he abruptly pulled Firkle into his arms. “Oh my god, you're alright..”

Firkle just blinked, confused and scared. “What the hell is going on, why are you bleeding ?!”  
Pete and Henrietta also looked at their oldest, waiting for an explanation, which Michael didn't had. He couldn't just say he'd been attacked by Freddy Krueger, even his friends would think about him as a psycho.  
So he just shook his head and took one of the napkins to hold it against his cheek. “Perhaps I scratched myself while sleeping or something like that..”

He could see they didn't believe him, but he would't tell them the truth. He didn't even believe it himself. This had to be something completely normal, nothing was wrong. He just scratched himself and that's it. Nothing mysterious about this.

When they could finally leave the Village Inn almost an hour later, he could feel the gazes of his clique on him and shuddered. His cheeks burned – not only because of the cuts.

At home, he sneaked into the bathroom to make himself ready for bed. When he washed his face and applied some salve to the wounds, the light flickered. Michael's body turned stiff.

Nothing happened.

After a few minutes of silent waiting for another nightmare, Michael finally looked into the mirror again to finish the treatment, but instead, the salve jar landed in the sink.  
The wounds on his face had changed their appearance, had formed words, which made the Goth turn paler than he already was.

 

“Nine, Ten, Freddy's back again.”


End file.
